Chapter Three
Missus Grier said nothing as she led the way down the stairs and through the hall. As we approached the front entry, I raced ahead to open the heavy door.
“Thank you, Fallon.”
“Most welcome, ma’am.” I said as I followed her out.
The sound of the doors being shut behind us was not the sound of expulsion, but of release.
SolMajor had set and the SolMinor was on the decline. Gas lamps illuminated the wide stone steps and the gravel drive where an elegant black coach waited. It was drawn by four powerfully built horses, two white in the lead, and two black behind. Their lustrous coats gleamed under the combined glow of the gas lamps and the soft yellow light of SolMin. The coachman was a burly fellow who looked uncomfortable in his livery uniform and top hat. Even though his skin was the hue of a chestnut, his complexion still seemed pale and weathered like Missus Grier’s. He opened the carriage door as we neared.
“Everything satisfactory, ma’am?”
“Yes, Bedford. Please pardon me if I defer your introduction to young Fallon here until later. I want to leave this disgusting place as soon as possible.”
I offered Missus Grier a hand up. As I followed her into the coach, Bedford said in a rich baritone voice, “Pleased ta meet you, Mister Fallon.”
“Thank you, sir. The feeling is mutual. And, uh, it’s just Fallon.” I grew up at the Mount and I don’t know if Fallon is a first name or last, or even how I got the name. All I do know is it is my only name.
He closed the door, then the carriage jostled about as Bedford climbed up onto the driver’s perch. I positioned myself in the seat opposite the lady, facing the rear of the carriage. With a shake of the reins, we were off. But we didn’t get far before we slowed to a stop. I looked anxiously out the window. Why were we stopping? We were just outside the Mount’s walls, at the intersection of the drive and the road to Agricittá. Had Missus Grier changed her mind? Was she going to send me back?
I practically jumped out of my boots when the opposite door flung open and the carriage shook as someone clambered aboard. It was the copper-haired spy. She pulled the door shut and plopped herself down next to me. A broad smile and sparkling green eyes enhanced her freckled face. She stuck out her hand and said, “Hello, Fallon. I’m Brünnhilde.”
I shook her hand and replied, “Broom-what-duh?”
She laughed. “I’m just hoaxing you. Name’s Aidan. That means fire. I think it’s because of my hair. Don’t you?”
“You are overwhelming the boy with your enthusiasm, Addy.”
“Yes, grandmother.”
I looked quizzically at the lady.
She smiled. “You are right not to believe something without proof, Fallon. I owe you an explanation."
Here it came. The revelation. She was not who she pretended to be. She was probably some actress, or possibly a spy herself, come to recruit me. I had often fantasized about this moment – about becoming a spy. But now I wasn't so sure. The old adage, Be careful what you wish for, came to mind.
"My name is Mara Grier. This is my granddaughter, Addy. I am mostly as I appear. I am the matriarch of a wealthy family from Primacittá. At least, what’s left of it."
My mind finally put things together. Grier. Primacittá. Wealthy family.
"The franchise Griers?" It was an inappropriate question for someone in my position, but there it was, blurted out and hanging in the air. The founding families of Primacittá held most of the basic franchises on Neworld. The Grier family held the corn franchise. They may have married into some other franchises as well, but I didn't have that information."
"You know your history then, do you? Very good. Very good. We have been looking for someone like you for some time. It was a family friend who suggested you.”
“Suggested me? Who?”
“Missy Howard.”
“She was as mean to me as Dean Ambrose.”
“She was testing your resolve. Missy Howard kept us informed of the progress of a certain Mister Newman as well."
I tried not to register my surprise. Franchise family or no, I felt uneasy at having been under this woman's scrutiny, having been spied on, for I don't know how long.
"She regards your powers of observation highly and… ” Missus Grier withdrew the sheaf of papers from her sleeve, leaned over to place them in a storage pouch on the carriage wall, then withdrew something else from the pouch. “She gave me these.”
She handed me an item I recognized immediately. It was
an assortment of papers bound between two pasteboards and a small cloth purse
containing some pencils. The papers were my sketches. My only joy at the
Mount had been sitting in the courtyard sketching flowers and plants, birds,
animals, and insects. Although no one would ever sit for me, I had sketched
the likenesses of every faculty member from memory.
“My portfolio.” Anger tinged my voice. “Dean Ambrose took
those from me months ago. How did you…”
“Missy Howard put Ambrose up to it. We needed to see your ability first hand. She gave the drawings to Addy, and Addy to me.
Another intrusion into my life.
“I’ve lived with Missy since early in the planting season,” said Addy. “I’ve been watching you from the tree.”
“I knew you were there,” I snapped.
“Did not,” she countered.
“Well, maybe not you, exactly, but I knew someone was there.”
“Bet you didn’t know I planted the book pages behind the bush. I dropped them from the tree after visitor’s day, right before I knew you’d come to clean up.”
Overwhelmed with it all, I closed my eyes and slumped back in my seat. I sorted through the images in my mind, trying to make sense of the swirl of events. Was I being maneuvered and manipulated like a pawn in some grand game? For certain, I had been observed, tested, and purchased. The social position of Missus Grier and her use of deception clarified my status.
“What do you want of me?" I said in resignation. "Am I to become a spy for the corn franchise?”
Missus Grier laughed. “No, nothing as petty as that. You are not going to be a spy." Her tone became serious.
"Fallon, we need someone with your power of observation and drawing ability, someone who does not believe one thing or another, someone who wants to believe something and is seeking proof so he can believe.”
She paused, considering the weight of her next words. “We need someone without a family.”
“It’s dangerous then?” It was more of an affirmation to myself than a question.
She nodded.
I felt like I had no control over my life. I needed to grasp for some meaning or purpose I could call my own. “And what’s in it for me? If I survive, that is.”
“Survive or not, you will have the proof you need to believe or not believe.”
“To believe or not believe what?”
“In the Fount of Life.”
– End Chapter Three –
